


Stuck

by smartgirlsaremean



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Dark Castle, F/M, Magical Shenanigans, RSS 2017, Rumbelle Secret Santa 2017, bed sharing, kinda not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-17 22:12:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13086444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smartgirlsaremean/pseuds/smartgirlsaremean
Summary: When Belle makes a mess in Rumplestiltskin's laboratory, there are unexpected consequences.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ravensinflight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravensinflight/gifts).



> The giftee: Tumblr user ravensinflight  
> The prompt: "Wherever you go, I go."

Rumplestiltskin had forbidden his little maid from entering his tower laboratory more times than he could count. He guarded his privacy as jealously as dragons guard thier hoard, and besides that there were so many dangerous potions and hazardous ingredients and various nasty things in bottles, that the directive was really for her own good - and his. Even a tiny, clumsy, disrespectful maid was more useful than a dead one, and he was often working with magic at its rawest and most powerful.

This tracking spell, for example, was benign enough when completed, but in its early stages it was temperamental at best. Ingredients had to be added at precisely the right time, the mixture had to be stirred exactly four times at the proper speed, and one and only one frangipani petal had to be freshly plucked from a blossom and dropped into the potion twelve minutes and thirteen seconds into brewing. Rumplestiltskin stood motionless over the cauldron, a flower clutched in one hand and his eyes fixed on the clock on the opposite wall. Seconds ticked by, and his fingers twitched.

The tower door banged open and the sorcerer started, the flower dropping from his hand and into the bubbling brew. He cursed as fragrant purple smoke spilled over the brim of the cauldron, and then turned to glare at his housekeeper, who looked very sheepish standing there with a tea tray.

“ _What?_ ” he barked.

“It’s tea time,” she said with an apologetic smile. “You didn’t come down and you didn’t answer me, so I thought I would bring the tray to you.”

“You are not to be in the tower,” he snapped, but she ignored him and walked into the room past the bubbling cauldron and set the tray on his work table. He’d never met a maid so incredibly brazen, but he supposed that was what he got for trying to make a decent servant out of a noblewoman.

“What are you brewing?” she asked, leaning over to inspect the contents of the cauldron, and he growled.

“A very important potion for a very important person, and thanks to you this batch is utterly ruined.”

“Oh, I’m - I’m sorry.” The girl’s eyes grew large and sad. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“As a matter of fact, there is.” Rumplestiltskin stalked closer to her, stopping when the pointed toes of his boots brushed her skirts. He leaned in so that his face was on a level with hers. “Get. Out.”

Her eyes grew wider still, but rather than turning tail and running, she stared back at him, a strange light flaring in her eyes and a blush stealing into her cheeks. He wasn’t sure what that expression meant, but he suddenly felt a bit overwarm, and he bared his teeth to hide his discomfort and raised his voice.

“ _Shoo_.”

She started, gasped, and stumbled back a couple of steps - directly into the cauldron full of ruined potion. Too late Rumplestiltskin reached out to stop her - the cauldron splashed and fumed and finally tipped over, drenching her from the waist down. She gasped and leapt away, tugging at her skirts, which were now clinging to her legs, and Rumplestiltskin groaned. The mess would clean up easily enough, but there was no telling what the effects of the potion would be. It had been meant to be a tracking spell, but with nearly ten times the required amount of frangipani, he couldn’t predict what -

He grunted as something small and soft hit him square in the chest, and he looked down to see that the girl must have tripped or stumbled and was now grasping at his waistcoat for balance. He took her by the shoulders and helped her to stand upright, careful not to mark her bare arms with his claws.

“I’m sorry,” she said shakily. “I’m not sure what happened.”

“You made a mess,” he snapped, “after barging into my tower uninvited.”

Her face grew red. “Your tea was getting cold.”

Rumplestiltskin rolled his eyes and turned away, gesturing with one hand to dry her dress and vanish the spilled potion from the floor. “I trust after this little adventure,” he said, striding across the room, “you’ll take my warnings seri... _oof_!”

Something had collided with his back, and when he turned around he saw Belle standing before him, her face pale and distraught. He looked up across the room to the cauldron, which was still lying on its side - he’d walked at least ten feet away from her, how had she...

“How did you do that?”

“I don’t know,” she said shakily. “I was standing there one moment, and the next…”

He held up a finger to silence her, considering the possibilities. Without a word he transported himself across the room, and watched in astonishment and alarm as Belle, her eyes terrified, swept through the air and directly into his arms. Rumplestiltskin set her aside and sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“What is it?” Belle asked. “What’s happening?”

“That spell was a tracking spell, dearie. It returns objects to their rightful owner. Normally it’s only strong enough for the object to travel to its owner’s immediate vicinity, but this spell - well, it appears to be a bit stronger than most.”

“Object? _Owner_ ?” Belle drew herself up to her full height. “I am not your _possession_ , Rumplestiltskin!”

Rumplestiltskin raised his eyebrows and tilted his head to one side. “Well…”

Pure fury flashed in her eyes and she stalked up to stand directly in front of him, her finger pushing into the center of his chest. “I am a _person_ with a _mind of my own_ ,” she hissed. “I spent quite long enough being viewed as some man’s rightful property, and I will not have you…”

“You gave up your freedom to save your people,” he said coldly. “A noble sacrifice, to be sure, but you cannot be both imprisoned and free. Besides, I never said _I_ considered you my possession.”

“Then why…”

“The magic, dearie!” Rumplestiltskin took a step back from her and gave a flourish. “Magic is ancient - primal - elemental. It doesn’t consider nuances or give exceptions. When you agreed to come with me forever, it interpreted that as a simple exchange of goods. Your life for theirs. Like it or not, the magic sees you as _mine_.”

Belle crossed her arms, her expression mutinous. “Well, what do we do now?”

“We break the spell, of course.” He took her by the arm and pulled her outside the door. “Stay here,” he commanded. He closed the door and locked it, and then stood just on the other side. “Alright?” he called.

“Fine,” Belle said. “What are you trying to do?”

“I want to see how strong the compulsion is,” he said. “Try to stay put.” He backed up one step, and then another, and then another, listening for any sign that the spell was weakening. When he was a mere three feet from the door, he heard a muffled thump, and he sighed.

“Rumplestiltskin, please open the door!” she called, and he waved one hand. When the door swung open, Belle tumbled into the room, having been pressed up against the wood. She huffed and stood, brushed off her skirts, and looked up at him, troubled. “I don’t think that helped.”

“Apparently not.”

“Don’t you have an antidote or counter-spell or...something?”

“There is no known counter-spell for a tracking spell,” he snapped. “It simply wears off with time.”

“How much time?”

“Usually about a day. In this case, however…could be weeks. Months, even. Perhaps I could _create_ a counter-spell, but that will also take time.”

To his astonishment, a light flickered in Belle’s eyes, and her lips quirked up in a little smile.

“What are you smiling about?” he snapped.

“Well...you’re always leaving the castle,” she said. “To meet with royals and dignitaries and to make deals and trades.”

“ _And?_ ”

“I’ve always wanted to see the world, and now I will.” Her eyes were positively sparkling now.

“Who says you will?”

“Wherever you go, I go, isn’t that right? If you leave the castle, I’ll have to come with you.”

He scoffed. “I am _not_ taking my maid on any deals. What would my clients think?”

She shrugged. “It doesn’t seem as if you have much choice.”

Damn it all, she was right. “Well, I - I simply won’t make deals until this,” he gestured to her, “is settled.”

“You plan to ignore the calls of desperate souls?” Belle asked incredulously.

“Yes.” In the face of her skeptical silence he frowned. “I’m perfectly capable of ignoring them.”

“Very well.” Stepping up to his worktable, Belle carefully moved a few items aside and slid up to sit with her feet dangling, as she would sit on the table in the trophy room. “Would you like me to help you, or should I keep out of your way?”

“When have you _ever_ kept out of my way?”

Belle pursed her lips, and if he didn’t know better, he’d think that she was trying not to laugh.

“Just...sit there and don’t touch a thing,” he grumbled. “With any luck, I’ll be free of you by nightfall.”

* * *

Unfortunately, his estimate had turned out to be rather... _optimistic._ Nightfall had come and gone and he was no closer to finding an antidote. The spell showed no sign of weakening, and Belle was currently seated on a chaise he’d conjured for his own comfort, but of which she had immediately taken full possession. She was poring over a spellbook she’d found in one of his bookcases, and he scowled at his latest concoction, which had proved to be as ineffective as pure water.

“There are a lot of flowers that represent separation or departure,” Belle said suddenly. “Do you have cyclamen? Or sweet peas? In the garden, perhaps?”

“This is the _Dark Castle_ ,” Rumplestiltskin pointed out. “I don’t have _flower gardens_.”

Belle opened her mouth - no doubt to question him about this - but all that came out was a loud, long yawn, and Rumplestiltskin glanced at the clock.

“I suppose it’s time that troublesome little maids were in bed,” he said.

“I can sleep here,” Belle said, closing her book and setting it aside. “I know you don’t often sleep, and I don’t want to disturb you.”

Rumplestiltskin shrugged and turned back to his books and cauldron, watching out of the corner of his eye as his maid slid further down on the couch, curling on her side and folding her hands under one cheek. It seemed to take her some time to find a comfortable position, but after awhile she ceased to stir and her breaths became deep and even. Every now and then she gave a soft snore, and he smirked.

She hadn’t been a terrible encumbrance, he admitted to himself as he ground a few herbs in a mortar. At times her company had even been rather pleasant; she was certainly far cleverer than he’d expected a woman of her age and station to be, and she had a way of smiling when he snarled and giggling at his dark humor that was - well, it was downright endearing.

There was a rustle behind him and he turned to see that she had turned in her sleep, her brow puckered, and a small whimper escaped her lips. A tiny shiver ran up his spine and he frowned, turning away, but she stirred again and made another sweet little sound, and he abruptly set the mortar down on the table. With a thought he transported them both into one of the many unused bedrooms in the castle so that Belle was comfortably tucked into the large bed and he was sitting in a chair drawn up before the fire. Summoning his books from the tower, he settled in to research until his little maid had awakened.

He’d read approximately three pages when a loud thud sounded behind him, and he glanced back to see that Belle had fallen out of the bed and was struggling with the blankets.

“What’s happened? Where are we?” she asked, blinking slowly.

“A bedroom,” he grumbled. “You were sleeping too loudly.”

Belle rolled her eyes and rose, attempting to climb into the bed, but some invisible force pulled her back. Crossing her arms, she turned to him and glared. “You’re too far away,” she said. “Can’t you just...sit on the bed and read those?”

He blinked owlishly at her. “On the bed? With you?”

“I promise not to kick you,” she said, waving an impatient hand. “At least if you’re on the bed I know for certain that I won’t fall out of it.”

He considered. He could move the bed closer to the fire, but then she would be too warm. Besides, it wasn’t as if he actually needed the firelight to read. When she gave a very long, pointed sigh, he snatched up his books, stalked to the side of the bed, and threw himself down on the side closest to the fire. Belle hummed in satisfaction and nestled on the other side of the bed; within moments she was fast asleep.

The firelight flickered on the pages of his book, and the words began to swim before his eyes. He blinked rapidly, surprised, and realized that his head was feeling a bit fuzzy and his eyelids were drooping. A wave of exhaustion swept over him, and he fought a yawn. With a thud, his book fell to the floor, and his head dropped back against the headboard as he slipped into his first true sleep in centuries.


	2. Chapter 2

When Belle awoke, she was at first confused. A glance around the room proved that she was not in her own chamber, but one very like it, and she distinctly remembered falling asleep in Rumplestiltskin’s laboratory. Moreover, there was someone in the bed next to her. Belle sat up a little and smirked at the sight of the Dark One sleeping propped up against the headboard, his head tilted back and his mouth slightly open.

_ Now _ she remembered - the tracking spell had pulled her to the floor and she had demanded he join her so that she could sleep in peace. Apparently she was not the only one in need of rest.

Belle glanced down at his bare feet and nearly giggled. For all his fearsome behavior, the Dark One’s toes looked like any other man’s, more or less. She studied his glistening skin a moment and felt a blush creep up her neck. She had often wondered if his scales covered him from head to toe, and here she had her answer.

Slowly Belle’s gaze traveled from his feet up his long leather-clad legs. She did not often have the opportunity to observe him thus - her master was a bundle of nervous energy who found it nearly impossible to sit still, and if he caught her looking he could become testy. But now…

What  _ was _ he? He had the form of a man, but his strange skin and hair and eyes suggested otherwise. His hands, with their long elegant fingers that were so busy and so clever, were like a man’s, but the sharp black nails were not. They were folded at his waist, now, their greenish-gold skin contrasting with the deep red of his shirt. He was still sleeping, his chest rising and falling with his breath, and Belle flushed still more deeply when her eyes strayed to the triangle of his chest made visible by the open collar of his shirt. Rumplestiltskin was certainly not broad or muscular like the men described in her favorite books, but he had a certain appeal all the same. Belle herself was small and rather delicate, and the thought of kissing or embracing or exploring other... _ intimacies _ with tall, imposing Gaston had always rather frightened her. A man of Rumplestiltskin’s stature - taller than she but not by much, slender and wiry, built for dexterity rather than strength - that was much closer to her ideal.

She swept her eyes up the column of his neck to study his profile. If he was or had once been a man, he must have been a handsome one, she thought. He had high, sharp cheekbones and a very distinguished-looking nose, and she tried to picture him with smooth pink skin and soft dark hair. His current wavy locks had fallen away from his face, revealing a hint of silver at the temples, and she revised her mental image. His hair was probably lighter, streaked with gray, and his eyes - what color would they be?

“It’s not polite to stare, dearie.”

Belle started guiltily and met Rumplestiltskin’s cold, yellow-green gaze. “I - I’m sorry, I was…”

“Studying the beast,” he sneered. “Well, go on - which part of me is ugliest, hm? These claws?” He wriggled his fingers before her eyes. “Or perhaps this fearsome mask?” He gestured to his face.

“No!” Belle exclaimed. “I wasn’t - I don’t think -” She blushed when he raised his eyebrows. “I was thinking -  _ imagining _ \- what you would have looked like as a man.”

He froze, his expression a mixture of confusion and dread. “I’m  _ not _ a man,” he said, and Belle nearly rolled her eyes.

“But you must have been a man once,” she insisted. “You look as if you were.”

He was silent for a moment. “Lifetimes ago,” he said at last.”Too long ago to matter. Why should that be of interest to you?”

“I promised to go with you forever, and it’s not as if I meet many people. If I’m never to know anyone else in my whole life, can’t I at least know you?”

His expression was unreadable as he studied her, and then he gave her a sharp, wicked grin. “Perhaps you just want to learn the monster’s weaknesses, eh?”

“You’re not a monster,” Belle said firmly. “You make your quips and your threats, and you think you’re uglier than you are, but there is good in you. I’ve seen it.”

“My failing to kill a thief and then growing bored of the chase? That’s not goodness, dearie, that’s a short attention span.” He waved a hand. “I grow bored of everything eventually, even nosy little maids who ruin perfectly good tracking spells.”

Belle did roll her eyes this time, but she decided not to push him any further at the moment. After a few seconds of silence she pushed down her blankets, sat up a little taller, and combed her fingers through her tangled curls. “If you want breakfast sometime this morning, we’ll have to go down to the kitchens,” she said.

He grunted and turned away, sliding off the top of the bedclothes and then reaching out a hand to help her climb out after him. Belle bit her lip to hide a smile and kept her eyes downcast. He was always performing little courtesies, handing her out of carriages and magically opening doors for her when her arms were full, all done automatically and almost as if he’d forgotten for a moment that he was meant to be a dark, evil sorcerer with no regard for anyone’s comfort or well-being but his own. He released her as soon as her feet touched the ground, and with a wave of his hand transported them both to the kitchens.

* * *

The call came just before tea time.

They were in the laboratory again, Belle reading spell-books and Rumplestiltskin stirring a new potion he hoped might do the trick. Out of the corner of her eye, Belle saw his back straighten and his shoulders stiffen, and then he gave a little shake of his head and focused again on the cauldron. A few seconds later his body jerked as if someone had yanked an invisible chain, and Belle sighed, closing her book.

“Who is it?” she asked.

“A desperate princess,” Rumplestiltskin said. “No one of any importance.”

“What does she want?”

“How am I to know?” he snapped.

“You know who she is, but you don’t know what she wants?”

He was silent, staring into his cauldron, and then he grimaced as the call came a third time. Legend held that the Dark One would appear if his name was called three times, but Belle had since learned that once was enough to at least catch his attention. Each subsequent call was more irresistible than the last; the more desperate a supplicant was, the more eager they would be to make a deal. Rumplestiltskin drew a sharp breath and one hand clenched into a fist, and Belle knew he’d been called a fourth time.

“Oh, for all the gods, Rumple, answer her,” Belle said.

“I am  _ not _ taking my maid on a deal,” he growled. “I can ignore…” His voice cut off abruptly and he drew in a deep breath, his eyes closed. “Oh, dear,” he said softly when he’d relaxed again. “Oh, dearie, dear, dear. She  _ is _ desperate.”

Belle shivered at the hunger in his voice, the longing that seemed to come from a terrible dark place within him. When he opened his eyes, they were glittering more fiercely than ever, and he bared his teeth in a sharp grin.

“I’ve changed my mind,” he said silkily. “An opportunity like this does not come around often. We’re going, dearie.”

“Where?” Belle said, leaping eagerly from her seat.

“Agrabah."

* * *

When the smoke of Rumplestiltskin’s magic cleared, Rumplestiltskin shook off his maid’s grip and stormed for the stairs, Belle hurrying to catch up. 

“Rumplestiltskin, wait!” she called.

He took the steps two at a time, and she followed, nearly out of breath. “A bloody waste of a trip,” he snarled when he’d reached the laboratory. “All of that maneuvering, all of those promises and deals, for what?” He tossed a brass lamp to the floor, where it rattled around noisily. “Empty! Whoever heard of wishing a genie free? What an idiotic, ridiculous waste of magic!”

“He was  _ imprisoned _ ,” Belle insisted. “What was I supposed to do?”

“You were  _ supposed _ to give the lamp to  _ me _ !”

“But I was the one who found it, and I was the one who cleaned it,” Belle said. “They were my wishes, they weren’t transferable. You heard him, those were the rules!”

“Then you should have made your wishes and then…”

“Rumplestiltskin, are you seriously arguing that I ought to have kept that poor creature a prisoner for eternity so that  _ you  _ could have what you wanted?” Belle’s eyes flashed in anger. “Shame on you!” She stepped right up to him and pressed her finger into his chest as she had done once before. “How would you like someone to find a way to chain you up and use your magic for their own gain?”

He froze, his mind blank with terror at the very thought. He took a quick inventory of his vault and sensed the dagger still safe and sound, still secret and unclaimed. Gods forbid anyone find it - leash him and enslave him.

Oh.

“Well,” he said at last, attempting to ignore the little quirk her mouth gave when she sensed her victory, “at the very least you should have wished for your own freedom before granting him his.”

Belle gave him a puzzled look. “But he gave it anyway,” she said. “Remember? When he was free I asked him to sever the tracking spell and he agreed."  


“I meant your  _ freedom _ ,” Rumplestiltskin said uneasily, turning away from her and picking the lamp up off the floor. “You could have wished for an end of our deal.”

“Oh.” He glanced at her and saw that she looked thunderstruck. “I...didn’t think of that.”

“Quite a detail to overlook.”

“Well...I suppose I’ve become so accustomed to the castle and to...to you...that I don’t really think of myself as a prisoner anymore. This doesn’t feel like a sentence, it feels like...home.”

Rumplestiltskin nearly dropped the lamp again in his surprise.

“What would you have wished for?” Belle asked, sliding up to sit on his work table as she often did the dining table in the great hall.

Memories of his son assailed him - rocking and feeding and soothing him, and later playing and teaching and nursing, and at last grasping and crying and begging and falling, falling, falling…

Surely the genie had had the power to travel realms, bound as he was by neither space nor time. Another path closed to him, another hope destroyed by Belle’s too kind, too generous nature - and yet he could not be angry with her anymore. He even admired the purity of her intentions and the steadfastness of her principles.

She would be either the making or the ending of him, and he wasn’t sure which he would prefer.

“Well, the place has been getting dusty,” he said at last, aware that she was still waiting for his answer. “Perhaps I’d wish for a maid.” He snapped his fingers. “Wait...don’t I have one already?”

Belle rolled her eyes and slid off the work table. “I’ll see you for tea, Rumplestiltskin. Try not to be late.”

When she was gone, he placed the lamp in a curio next to an old ring with a cracked stone and a green glass bottle, and returned to his work, keeping half an eye on the time.

If he’d learned anything from this little ordeal, it was that It wouldn’t do to keep Belle waiting.


End file.
